


In my time of dying

by Llamadramaphan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, can be read as wincest but can also be read as platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:27:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8254249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llamadramaphan/pseuds/Llamadramaphan
Summary: The Winchesters are not capable of many things,staying dead is one of them.





	

The first time it happened, neither of them spoke about it. 

The words sat underneath their tongues, twisted and rotting away along with the flames burning inside their chests, once strong wildfires, now reduced to small flickers, wasting away. Their bones as fragile as china, their eyes shifting from one corner to the other, waiting for an old friend.  
An old friend that puts their slender hand on their shoulders, carries them away.

But the old friend doesn’t come.

And over time, his presence creates a void within their lives, carves an empty space which they fit each other into, like glue, attempting to fix holes that are too great to ever be anything less than threatening. Threatening, like the monster in the closet, like the darkness that washes over their minds before their eyes close before yet another empty motel room, threatening like the cold atmosphere in which they drape themselves in.  
But after a while, it’s forgotten as well.

Like the fact that the car’s AC is in serious need of a fixing, like the fact that the shoes they wear are run through and that the spare change kept inside their pockets stem from men, far more faithful than they could ever be. 

They forget about the old friend like they forgot about the man that used to sit on the driver’s seat, like they forgot about the woman that would sing them to sleep, like they forgot the colour of their first plushy, or the girl they first shared a kiss with.  
Everything gets swept away by streams of consciousness, by the calloused hands that grip metal, by shifty eyes that scan rooms upon entering. It joins everything else that has been swept away over the years, joins onto the mountain of open secrets and forgotten facts, the cave in which all the dirty and rotten is being kept. Far, far away. Away from the good, away from the pure. Away from the man, sitting behind the steering wheel, away from the woman that used to make the meanest pancakes in the world, away from old and long forgotten feelings of childish superiority, of the invincibility they once felt before everything got drowned in a sea of sorrow and scars. Those memories are what keeps them sane, what keeps the piles of brittle bones and shaking hands together as they ‘hit the road’ as they ‘do what they’ve always done’. 

As they do the only thing they’ve ever been capable of doing.  
Staying pure is not one of those things.

That may be why the old friend re-joins them again, sooner than later. Joins them, big ring glistening as it sets down onto one of their shoulders.  
They’re surprised.

Surprised, because, it shouldn’t be like that, should it?  
Surprised, because, what am I supposed to do now?

And even though they’ve had a year, he’s still surprised as he asks the lady behind the counter for a single bedroom, when the radio inside the car remains void of classic rock music, when the old tapes start gathering dust down where they’re crammed into a small space within the interior. Crammed into his interior, that is where older brother remains, crammed into a cave of pale skin and blue lips, of biting teeth and strong arms that carry on the business like they always used to. A cave, a torn-open corpse of what once had the potential of being great. 

And then the corpse, the real corpse, goes to become greater than it used to be, back when it still had its other part, goes out to have its eyes drenched in black and its heart turned into glass, for it was is longer needed. It only took up space within the king that grew, the prince that had lost his only reason for claiming the throne.  
But then, the old friend changed his mind once again, didn’t he?

And when the other half came back, it came back to find him drowned in the darkness of his own heart, of what it had become due to the desperateness it was caught in, after being abandoned by the only purpose it had ever known.

And they go back to fixing things, like they’ve always done. 

That’s the second time it happened, and they ought to never speak of it again.  
But it was different, and they both knew, knew from the distance they kept when in the same room, from the shivers that ran down their spines, spines that used to be shared but resembled no more than ruins this time around. It didn’t feel like they had lost anything. It felt like everything that could have ever been worth loosing, had already been gone before the old friend had come again to carry half of the intertwined souls away.

Maybe that was what broke them.  
Maybe it truly was the knowledge of never having been anything but broken.

And when the mistake was made, the last and final mistake, the world had already lost its greatest soldier. Their father was dead. All their fathers were. And when the children looked into the mirror, what they saw was no more than two helpless corpses, pretending to be alive while the flames burning within had come to stand still in the caves that were their bodies.

But they carried on, didn’t they?

With broken bones and damaged minds, with bouts of anger and masses of regret, tied to their shoulders. But they carried on. Because it is what they knew to do. The only thing, if you will. Carry on, move on, forget.  
Forget about the knives and forget about the screams you heard as they suffered under your hand, forget about the black shadows that broke free out of bodies at your will, forget about the spell you broke and forget about your destiny that prolongs you to be the one thing you’ve feared your whole life.  
Carry on, because it’s the only thing you’re capable of doing.

And when the old friend visits again, visits with his smile being grim and his slender hands purposeful, then just carry on again. Leap forward, even when your ribcage has been smashed and the remnants of what used to be your beating heart, lays before you, in the hands of the brother that has just went to go along with that old friend of yours.  
Because you know, he will come back.

At the back of your mind, at the back of one of the two most damaged minds in the universe, there’s the knowledge of history repeating itself. Go, attempt to live how he had always wanted you to, attempt to be anything but the left overs of something great – because he will come back.  
Maybe his eyes will be black again, maybe his soul will be torn from his body – but he will come back. Like magnets, you will find each other, you will leap back to a place where you are able to coexist with one another, for it is the only thing you are capable of doing.

And when the old friend comes back for you, you will gladly go with him, knowing that it won’t be the last time, knowing, that there’s an endless number of new beginnings and tragedies ahead, knowing, that all the suffering will be worth it because it means that you are able to suffer with him, the only being that was ever important, the only remnant of that time when the woman sung you to sleep, when the other man sat behind the steering wheel, the only remnant of those times when you weren’t broken and useless. 

Like an artefact to an old kingdom, worthy of everything you have to give.

And if the old friend is persistent, if he won’t understand the reasons you will list him, then you will simply kill him. You will kill what has hurt you, like you’ve always done, you will murder the old friend in cold blood and bathe in it if it is what is needed.

For you will come back.

And for he will always come back to you.

Even if you’re no more than two broken corpses – maybe, exactly because of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so, if you're reading this - thanks, it really means alot!
> 
> Also, if you didn't really get what I was trying to get across by this (I honestly don't blame you), the 'old friend' is death and this whole fic is basically about the events of the first few seasons (Sam dying first, then Dean going to hell, then Sam opening Lucifer's cage, blablba).
> 
> Anyway, thanks a lot for reading, hope you enjoyed.  
> COMMENTS ARE RL GREAT BTW I APPRECIATE THEM ALOT OKAY THANKS BYE


End file.
